Tag Archive | gloom

Rain Is Right For A Monday

The Periodic Psychic Cleansing

I appreciate rainfall as much as sunshine.
If to me there’s a difference between the two
Then there’s something wrong with me, but not on this day.
It is time for the business of slipping away
To a deep introspection. Whatever I do
Will be worthwhile in spirit. This day will be fine.

Rain is such a fine cleansing of heart and of mind.
Nature puts things in order. Her ways outweigh those
Of the whole of humanity. Therein I learn
To succumb to the rhythmic patterns I discern
In the simplistic trickling as surely it slows
The functions of societies of humankind.

For those souls in the rat race, Monday is the start
Of a week of performing the best that one can.
Companies are the backbones of economies.
We The People are droplets they need to appease.
All together we flow. Every woman and man
Is the priming the pump needs. We each play a part.

Let the rain be the cover that I need today.
Gravity is its calling. The times are severe.
I’ll learn how to discover this world and my place
In its intricate workings, and may it erase
The effects of exhaustion because of my fear.
May my life that is dirtied be cleansed in this way.

On Beating The Blues

Endless Cycles Of Gloom

An old man on a job search is death wish engaged
At full throttle straight into the darkness of hell.
Able bodied I am with an excellent mind
But this world doesn’t see that. In essence, it’s blind
To what I have to offer. I’m just a hard sell
To the age of the phone app. Indeed I’m outraged.

But who gives a bat’s dropping among hell’s elite?
Having spent the last few weeks as a prostitute
On the road and in offices for interviews
That upset and degrade me, I’ll not self-abuse
As I sense that’s the intent because they can’t shoot
Me for sport or for pleasure. Still I’m in defeat.

Sent way out to the boondocks through Amazon Flex
With a carload of packages on gravel roads
With no God Damned thing guiding me but a phone app
Then the fucking phone dies. The whole day’s turned to crap
I bent over and puckered for copious loads
Of the dark seed of Satan in virtual sex.

I’d take this as a joke played on me with a smile
And forget like a bad dream what’s happened to me
If I were a lot younger – not old and depressed.
Vows I’ve made to my doctors were not made in jest
But when push comes to shove one would have to agree
That to ask for a breastfeeding isn’t my style.

I cannot be employed, yet Magic I create.
I have many fine talents and education
That I’m still paying off after decades by now.
This life hates my damned guts. This fact I can allow
To solidify suicidal decision.
But for now, I’ve decided to nourish my hate.